


On the Cutting Board

by threewalls



Category: KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Bloodplay, Community: bloodyvalentine, Established Relationship, Foreplay, Guro, Knifeplay, M/M, Self-Mindfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 22:23:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jin buys a knife for Kame. They play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Cutting Board

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mirokkuma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirokkuma/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sadistic Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/200105) by [threewalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls). 



> Written for nounou, who has been mentoring me in guro. 
> 
> With thanks to Lynndyre for beta and the title.

He makes Kame open the wrapping paper as soon as Jin walks in the door, the curry bubbling away; Jin didn't manage to be early enough to watch Kame cook. The knife sits washed in Kame's super clean kitchen rack while they eat-- and dry by the time they finish.

"I'm proud of you," Kame says, in the shower, soaping Jin up with antibacterial shower gel. He made Jin stutter through the whole story of the department store, prompting Jin to continue in between brushes of the sponge. 

Jin didn't realise buying knives was like buying shoes, that you're not supposed to just match the type of blade to what you're planning to cut, but match the hilt to the hand. The guy behind the counter probably thought Jin bought it for a girlfriend, high carbon stainless steel seven inches long, but Kame's hands _are_ sort of petite. Jin asked for something all-purpose, like he knows anything about how to cook, and asked for the box to be wrapped in red.

"It's a good knife," Kame says, and sinks down onto his knees to do Jin's legs. 

Jin's not disinterested. He's hard and he's terrified. The sight of Kame pulling out a hank of silk rope from Kame's toy chest makes Jin want to run. 

Rope calms Kame down. He likes the knots, and he likes laying Jin out just the way he likes, bound to the cast iron curlicues at the foot and head of his bed. 

Rope doesn't calm Jin down, but that's the point. Jin's going to pull, anyway. He's going to struggle, maybe not when Kame straddles him, maybe not when Kame picks up a large pair of black-handled scissors, sliding the blade up under Jin's T-shirt, but he's going to struggle. 

The tip of the blade dips cold into Jin's navel, and Kame holds it there, his eyes holding Jin's, his smile widening as he watches a shiver rack Jin's body from his ankles to his ears.

Kame snips, snips, snips, sharp flashes of metal shearing through white cotton, so quick that he's cutting through the ribbing at the collar before Jin's realised, Kame bending even further forward to force his tongue between Jin's slack lips.

The knife, Kame explains, is for later. He doesn't want to dull the edge by using it on cloth. 

(There is a part of Jin that knows, deep down, that the shears sitting right there next to the knife Jin bought on Kame's bedside table are safety equipment, that they can cut through the wound silk ropes binding Jin down. But it's a part of himself receding with every shallow breath Jin takes, leaving the parts that know just how much those shears can cut through, the parts that argue about whether Jin's terrified or impressed. Jin remembers that he asked for knives first, not Kame, but he also remembers the look on Kame's face the first time Kame sunk the blade of a flick-knife into Jin's hip.)

"I only want to hurt you on purpose, Jin," Kame croons. First blood tonight is Kame biting into Jin's soft lower lip.

Jin's body bucks, or tries to. The rope is tight around his wrists and his ankles, and Jin finds he can't even wriggle his ass while Kame's sitting on him. It doesn't stop him trying.

He's not-- this isn't-- Jin doesn't-- he has no plan-- he has no control-- he was trying-- 

Kame turns, and Jin can't knock him off. Kame gets his scissors under the elastic of Jin's waistband, and they're not even cold now, they're just hard, the fabric's just screaming as Kame cuts through.

Kame jumps off, yanking the fabric he'd cut away from under Jin's legs. All that's left of Jin's sweatpants are leg-warmers, and his T-shirt is spread open to either side of his chest like a cracked rib cage. Jin tells Kame that, because he doesn't usually have a brain to mouth filter and right now he'd tell Kame anything.

"Is that what you want?" 

Kame's index finger traces Jin's sternum, tracing down, down, down over Jin's soft belly, down to his navel. Jin flinches, breathes in and tries to curve his back down into the mattress.

"That was a hint? That you bought me a chef's knife," Kame says, as he picks it up. 

Kame swings a leg over him, settling his weight like Jin's body isn't one of those coin-operated buffalo in some South-Western dive. A buffalo hog-tied and spread-eagled. The sheets crinkle under Jin, plastic sheets under two layers of Egyptian cotton.

Kame's hard; so is Jin, he doesn't know why.

"You need the right knife for the job, right? Like--" Jin can't believe he's saying this, but the words don't stop, "like a cleaver," they sell those too, Jin saw them, but Jin went for quality over quantity, and-- fuck-- even when Kame lays his hand down, lowers the blade towards Jin's skin, Jin can't stop shaking-- he can't-- pulling his wrists and his ankles-- oh, fuck, he should have asked for a gag--

"Oh, Jin, a competent chef just needs a sharp blade," Kame says, and Jin can see the high carbon stainless steel reflected in his eyes. "It's a _very_ good knife. I don't think you'll be disappointed what I can do with it."

**Author's Note:**

> If you prefer, you can also comment on my [LJ](http://threewalls.livejournal.com/354934.html?mode=reply&format=light#add_comment) or my [DW](http://threewalls.dreamwidth.org/185306.html?mode=reply).


End file.
